


Sunflower

by cyberkogane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dangerous Situations, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Spiderman AU, keith is a doctor and artist, keith saves lance's life one (1) time and lance ends up going to him every time he's hurt, lots of fluff, lots of pining, slowish burn, spiderlance lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberkogane/pseuds/cyberkogane
Summary: Keith spends his days working as a surgeon at one of NeoYork's inner city hospitals, saving lives at every turn. When he's not working, he paints. His inspiration? The web slinging hero that keeps the city safe. After finding a nearly dead Spiderman on his balcony, Keith painstakingly works to save his life. If he survives, the last thing Keith expects is for the guy to stick around, let alone return. Only, the hero does just that.If only Keith knew who was really behind the mask.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Keith walks down the street with headphones blaring, intent to keep the inner city ruckus from bringing on another damn headache. He's had a rough day at the hospital and the rain is coming soon, brisk wind already lifting the ends of his dark hair. He hums, probably off key, but he's long since stopped caring. His backpack is heavy on his shoulders, filled to the brim with his wallet and hospital ID and paint and brushes. You know, the essentials. Hefting it higher, he bypasses a particularly grimy spot on the sidewalk and brushes arms with strangers.

Overhead, on the large screens displaying ads and hourly news, there is coverage of the most recent fight between some crazed villain and NeoYork's very own Spiderman. Keith glances up but doesn't keep an eye on it for long; he's already watched the video dozens of times. Instead, he focuses on crossing the traffic jammed street and jogging the rest of his way to the apartment. Just as he makes it to the stoop the rain begins to fall in big fat drops. He blinks against the downpour and runs up the steps, opening the doors and zooming to his flat with growing excitement. When he's not working, when he's done with his endless shifts and surgeries, he's here.

His apartment is a little haven in the chaos of the huge city. Sirens wail and voices never cease, the noise a jumbling web around him. But here there is quiet. There is momentary peace. With a sigh, he places his bag on the floor and throws his keys on the small round table by the window. The apartment is chilly and books litter the space, most stacks threatening to tumble over. He kicks aside a few paperbacks with care, making sure they aren't stepped on and ripped apart.

Gathering water, he gulps one glass down while he prepares the other for the staining of paint. His easel is already prepared and the canvas is splashed with color; a testament to his hard work for the last few days. Other than his books and the little radio sitting on his kitchen counter, the rest of the space is filled with canvases of all sizes. Some are eternally unfinished while others eagerly await shipping to their new homes. He pulls his hair into a low bun and unzips his bag, happy he went ahead with the new purchases at the art shop. While a bit pricey, even for his large salary, he'll be thanking himself later.

Outside, the rain begins to truly pour. Keith inches open his window to hear the drips, glad that it mostly drowns out the clatter of traffic below. The air travels through the room and he breathes deep before switching on his radio and connecting his auxiliary. His music is calm and soft and he likes it that way. Everyday life is too loud as it is.

So, with a calming pulse and the knowledge that he is safe in his own little world, Keith begins to paint. The subject is, as always, _him_. It's not that he's obsessed, which he really isn't. It's just that Spiderman is the epitome of all that is good in the world, at least from the standpoint of the common citizen. After growing up on the outskirts of society and seeing just how depraved humanity can be, he became transfixed by the superhuman. One moment life was just as bleak as always and Keith was finishing his doctorate at the university and the next there was a guy bringing down the evil and putting a stop to the pain. Keith gives himself some slack because he knows, on some level, almost everyone is as amazed by Spiderman as he is.

And once Keith is finished with these paintings, he not only receives a sense of accomplishment but also a pretty good price a piece. As one of the last traditional artists in the city, he takes pride in his work and it always seems to pay off.

Tilting his head, he looks at the composition and debates changing the source of light. Spiderman is standing on the edge of a building, watching over the city after a storm, the early morning light bathing his suit in muted reds and blues. Keith adds a swipe of darker blue along his inner arm and bites his lip when he adds the tiniest details; webbing in the fabric, glitter from dew on his covered hands, a small rainbow refraction bouncing off of a window.

These things take time. But Keith has all the time in the world.

 

* * *

 

Lance isn't a stalker. He's just a simple guy with a simple crush and even though it's kinda flipping his life upside down, he doesn't like to complain. How could he? The object of his affections is something he could never truly complain _about_.

Landing on the rooftop across from the large apartment complex, Lance takes a seat and lets his legs swing from the high rise. His feet bounce off of the metal and he lifts up the lower part of his suit to reveal his mouth, eager to chomp down on his burger. After a night of crime fighting he's always starving. He sighs as he chews and watches the figure in the room across from him, the filtered golden light casting the boy in a heavenly glow.

Keith Kogane wasn't supposed to happen. Other than rooming with him in college, Lance thought they'd have a passing friendship. The kind that would blaze bright and fade away; a star gone supernova.

He should have known better.

With a smirk, he pulls his phone from his suit and dials the number, sniffing at the smell of rain on the wind. It's been storming for hours but finally, just as he's readying to go home, it's let up. He's grateful.

"Hello?"

Lance's smile grows, "Hey, mullet."

Keith sighs on the other line and Lance can see him wipe at his cheek, no doubt smearing a glob of paint. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothin'." Lance shrugs, "Just, yanno, hangin' around. Looking at some pretty sights. Did you know the water in the bay looks way less brackish when the sun hits it just right?"

"I bet." Keith chuckles, the sound making Lance's breath hitch. "It's a Friday night. Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Eh, I got off early."

There's a momentary silence, one that has Lance standing and balancing on his toes. He wonders if Keith can hear the wind or the way Lance's breath stutters with hopeful thoughts, the way he's practically silently begging for an invitation to stay the night. Keith wanders to the window and leans on the frame, looking out at the city and the rain puddles running along the streets. Lance, on the contrary, can't stop staring at him.

"Sooo," Keith runs a hand through his hair and smirks, "wanna come over or something?"

"Yep, yes, of course." Lance answers immediately. He doesn't even have the ability to withhold his eagerness. "I'll bring pizza!"

 

* * *

 

Keith doesn't try to clean up before Lance arrives. He just pushes some books aside and washes two plates, wondering how long Lance will take now that the rain has picked back up. Thunder booms and it drowns out Keith's music, making him wince. The lights flicker and he can only freeze in hopes that they don't go out completely. Although the sun has begun to rise, Keith's apartment is still really dark until midday. 

A knock sounds at the door and Keith hurries over, brows raised when he sees Lance huffing and holding a partially damp pizza box.

"What, did you run all the way here or something?"

Lance grins and shrugs, "Something like that."

Rolling his eyes, Keith steps aside to let him in. Lance immediately heads for Keith's shitty couch and plops down, tossing the pizza box on the coffee table before stretching his long legs out in front of him. He groans and shuts his eyes, letting his neck crane as he turns his face toward the ceiling.

"You okay?" Keith asks, seeing the tension slowly draining from Lance's shoulders.

Lance hums, "I'm good now."

"Rough night?"

"Yeah, you could say that. Whoever decided pizza delivery should be available twenty-four seven is a sadist." He laughs, opening his eyes to look around. He glances at the newest painting and a strange look passes over his face.

Keith looks at his work. "What? Is it that bad?"

"No, no." Lance clears his throat and stands, walking closer to take the plates from Keith's hand. "It's great! Really. I just don't get how you never get tired of painting the guy over and over."

Their fingers brush and Keith's stomach, unfortunately, flips. It's stupid, the way his words die in his throat whenever Lance is close like this. His brown skin is still a bit dewy from the rain and his eyes are a deep blue; like the ocean at dusk. And Keith is hopelessly smitten; a total fool, an old school romantic. He blushes and looks away, back to the paint still drying on the canvas.

"I just got cheese." Lance says, thankfully changing the subject and breaking the silence. He puts two pieces on a plate and motions for Keith to sit down, bemused. "C'mon, you starving artist. Time to fill your belly."

"You're such a grandma." Keith jokes, happily taking the food.

Lance takes a big bite and huffs, "If I didn't feed you, you'd never eat."

It's not a lie. Keith tends to forget when he's in the throes of his work, whether that be at the hospital or here, and when he finally remembers that he hasn't eaten anything all day he's usually too tired to fix anything. So, yeah, Lance is pretty much a godsend. They eat to the music and the thunderstorm, content and relaxed.

"Y'know," Lance suddenly says, "people think Spiderman's gonna give up eventually. That he can only stop so many bad people before he quits or dies."

The words make a sick twist churn in Keith's gut. He's heard the gossip and the rumors and he's collectively ignored them, glad to believe Spiderman simply can't _die_. Keith likes to pretend that he'll always be around, swinging between the buildings, leaving sticky webs and waving at children outside of hospital windows.

"Sounds like bullshit to me." Keith says, licking the cheesy grease from his lips. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"The last big fight he was in was a close call." Lance sighs and leans back into the cushions, "You saw the videos right?"

"'Course I did."

"What would you think if he, like, ever stopped doing what he does?" Lance asks, voice tilting in some unknown emotion.

Keith looks over at him, studying his expression. It's mostly void of whatever thoughts he has brewing inside but there's a worried crease to his mouth, a picking of the skin on his lips by a sharp tooth.

"We're all worried he'll just disappear one day." Keith shrugs, "But shit happens."

"Shit happens." Lance repeats, letting out a breathy laugh. "Right."

"Seriously." Keith scoots a bit closer, pushing down the impulse to reach for Lance's hand. It'd be easy this close, just to let their fingers brush- "The guy's only human. Well, superhuman, I guess. But still human. And we all retire eventually...I don't think I'd blame him for wanting to live a normal life."

"We retire when we're old. Not so young, Keith. I mean his birthday isn't too far away-"

Lance cuts off and clears his throat but Keith furrows his brows, confused.

"How do you know that?"

"Uh," Lance brings a hand to his neck and plays with the little shark tooth necklace that hangs there, a remnant of his childhood on the coast. "I read it? Online, I mean. In a forum. I don't know if it's even legit but the source seemed credible enough."

"Oh." Keith sighs and stands, quickly bringing their plates to the kitchen. He runs the tap before going to stand in front of his painting again, already prepared to finish the final layer. "Well, I'll be sure to ask him the next time I see him around."

Lance barks a laugh and lays flat on the couch, already getting cozy. "Let me know how that goes." He yawns, words slurring with the slow blinks that follow. "Since he's your best friend n' all."

And just like that, he's out. Keith shakes his head and grabs a blanket from his room, knowing Lance will gripe about the cold when he wakes up. He places the blanket on top of him and can't stop himself from moving a loose strand of hair out of his face, fingertips brushing his cheek. Gulping, Keith steps away and looks at him for only a moment longer before turning back to his canvas.

 

* * *

 

Getting punched in the face can hurt like a bitch. Being slammed into a building can knock the breath out of you and being stabbed in the shoulder or leg can make you think the entire world is on fire. But getting _shot_ in the _stomach_ hurts a hell of a lot worse. Lance holds his abdomen with shaky fingers, wishing he had better ultra healing powers. Unfortunately, all he can do is keep the blood flow subtle with a thick layer of silky webbing. His suit is torn and his head is pounding but luckily, at the last minute, he'd knocked the crime boss out and managed to dial the police before passing out.

Now, after swinging as much as he could between the blocks, he limps across a rooftop in hopes that he'll find the one place he shouldn't go. But hey, who can blame him? He's delirious from blood loss and he's dying for a glass of cold water- no pun intended. Because ultimately, dying _sucks_. He's used to the feeling considering he's had his fair share of close encounters with the reaper. But no matter what, Lance gets back up. Only this time, well, he's not so sure.

Making it to the edge of the roof, he wobbles and extends an arm. His web is weak and his knees are weaker, making his landing a jumbled mess of grunts and groans and possible broken ribs. He coughs and lays there, blinking at the foggy haze of the sky. If he dies here, he supposes that'll be okay. He prays that it'll all be okay.

Distantly, as if muffled through headphones, a voice rings out in the night. Lance tries to turn his head but it's ridiculous to try. Through the stinging wet of his eyes he sees a dark silhouette run out onto the balcony. In his dreams he'd seen Keith figuring out his identity like some romantic comedy: a kiss through the cloth, meeting in the rain, Keith  seeing Lance's unmasking in some back-lit alley- you know, the kinda meeting moviegoers love to rave about.

He never wanted it to be like this.

 

* * *

 

Keith is in shock. He'd heard the crash and the groaning and immediately thought his apartment was getting broken into. The fire escape outside definitely gave people the advantage and even though Shiro warned him about these things, he'd refused to get a reinforced lock or alarm system. So, with a stuttering, stupid heart, he'd grabbed his baseball bat and tiptoed to the sliding door.

When he stepped outside he thought he might be in a dream. Was he sleepwalking? Lucid roaming? Because surely this wasn't real. 

"Spiderman?" He whispered, staring wide eyed at the man panting on the ground. Then, with the startling realization that the guy is practically bleeding out on Keith's damn balcony, he shouts and races forward before dropping to his knees.

"Holy shit." Keith breathes, shaky hands hovering above the man's form. He glances at the ripped suit on his abdomen, startling at the ravaged skin and webbing. "Holy shit, holy shit-"

Growing up, Keith had bandaged himself enough to know when something could be fatal. In times like those, he found his way to the local ER and waited in line like everyone else, hoping desperately that they wouldn't call his social worker. It's one thing to get the shit beat out of you or something sharp jabbed into your shoulder. But throughout all of Keith's young adventures and fights and misgivings, he'd never been _shot_. 

"Okay." He whispers, preparing himself for the hours to come. Working in the ER has made him quick on his feet, able to figure out the source of a problem with just one look.

But that's at the hospital, where all tools of the trade are within arms reach. Now, he tries to recall where he'd stashed his first aid kit and antiseptic and _fuck_ , he'll need to rummage through the boxes in his room for the stitches. Grabbing Spiderman by the armpits, Keith formulates a plan and works to bring him inside. He winces as the guy makes a pained noise when they cross the threshold and tries to apologize, even though it's obvious the sentiment won't be heard. Once Keith places him on the couch he rushes around in search of his belongings, wishing he had the guts to take the guy to the hospital. But the thought of him being unmasked, even by Keith's own coworkers, makes his skin break out in a cold sweat. No way could he do that. No way.

So, with a deep, calming breath, he tries to focus. He bloodies his hands and wipes at the perspiration on his brow, works through the webbing and marvels at the way the skin is already trying to heal; at the way the bullet is being consumed by tough muscle. Luckily, Keith digs it out just in time, making good use of his tongs and the large bottle of antiseptic that had been otherwise forgotten beneath his bathroom sink. But eventually, after several intense hours and questionable methods, Keith snips the last stitch and swabs the area clean. His fingers brush the man's skin and he wonders if he's just saved the superhero or, on the contrary, killed him. Though he's a doctor, Keith knows this entire procedure is risky at best.

Stepping away, Keith discards the medical instruments and scrubs at his hands, intent on getting the blood off. All the while, his eyes are on Spiderman. He watches his breathing and makes sure the stitches won't open, that he won't need an entire blood transfusion before the night is over with. Keith's eyes are heavy with fatigue and he wishes he'd have slept like he was supposed to. He's had the last few days off, which is a blessing in itself considering the hospital never sleeps. But instead of being responsible, he's been the exact opposite. He battles with himself, weighing the pros and cons of thrusting himself further into sleep deprivation. In the end, those cons win.

He makes his way toward his bedroom with heavy steps, knowing the man on his couch will surely be gone by morning. Keith will wake up and he'll walk into his blood stained living room and it'll be empty save for the paintings and the books. He'll hardly believe it and question his sanity and in the end he knows he'll regret not staying awake. But most of all, he knows Lance will never believe any of this.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Lance wakes with the sunset, his entire body aching as if in phantom pain. Where the bullet ripped through him there is now only a vague sting, the kind that makes him shudder and almost double over in nausea. Avoiding the urge to vomit all over Keith's floor, he struggles to sit up and look around, blinking away the long hours of forced sleep. His body always heals faster when he's passed out.

Rubbing at his face, he feels the material of his suit still settled in place, a reassuring touch. So Keith hadn't looked. Lance isn't sure if he's more relieved or disappointed. The thought of someone else knowing about his identity other than Hunk is usually a daunting thing. But as time goes on, the temptation of laying himself clean in front of Keith becomes stronger and stronger. One day he'll break.

But...not today.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and stands in a fluid motion, stretching with a small hitch in his breath. Yep, the wound _definitely_ still hurts. Placing a hand on the bandage, Lance marvels at Keith's ability to save lives without the need for superhuman strength or cool gadgets. In hindsight, Keith has always impressed Lance; he always will.

Sighing, he stumbles to the kitchen and tries to open the cabinets as quietly as possible, on the search for a large glass. The faucet water isn't the best but he's had worse, so he doesn't really mind the lukewarm, almost coppery taste. He shuts the cabinet with a soft thud and runs the tap fast, wincing when the pipes creak. He gulps down the first mouthful and hurries with the rest, knowing he's overstaying his welcome. He has to remember that right now, with this suit on his body, he isn't just Lance. He's an image: a symbol of hope. So, careful to rinse out the cup and put it back where it belongs, he decides on an easy retreat. Considering Keith is an artist it isn't hard to find a pen and some paper, the little square splattered with a bit of yellow paint. Lance taps the pen on his chin, trying to think of the best parting he can.

_Sorry for almost dying on your balcony- wanna meet up for burgers later?_

Lance shakes his head, knowing that's ridiculous. He scribbles a little circle in the glob of yellow, absentmindedly creating a tiny flower while he thinks. He knows he'll have to make a clean break, one that won't have Keith expecting another visit from Spiderman. Drumming his fingers on the counter, he debates drawing a simple smiley face next to the flower and a quick _thanks!_ but even that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

This shouldn't be so hard and yet-

"Uh?"

Startled, Lance leaps away from the counter as if it shocked him. Usually, his spidey senses would alert him of Keith's approach but his body is still waking up and for all intents and purposes, he's rightfully spooked. Clearing his throat, Lance raises a hand in a sad little wave.

"Hi." He says, hoping his voice is muffled enough by the suit to keep Keith from recognizing it. So long as he doesn't utter a word in Spanish he should be good, right? "Thanks for, y'know." He motions toward his abdomen.

Keith just stares, round glasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. If Lance weren't so nervous he'd revel in the moment. His favorite Keith, other than every other Keith, is a sleepy one. A just-woke-up, hair all messy, face wrinkled from the sheets, Keith.

"I was gonna leave a note." Lance tries again, glancing toward the counter top. Keith follows his gaze, one dark eyebrow raised toward his hairline. "I'm not too good with goodbyes."

"Me either."

The admission makes Lance hesitate. He shouldn't stick around, he knows that, and yet his feet don't move an inch toward the balcony door. Before he can stop himself, he saunters forward instead. Keith doesn't flinch but he doesn't look completely comfortable either. If Lance could guess, he'd say the boy is starstruck. Marveled, even.

Thrusting out a hand, Lance smirks and says, "Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman. It's nice to meet'cha!"

Keith looks at his hand and at his face and back at his hand, thick hair ruffled by the air vent turning on above him. But, eventually, he relents. With a slightly sweaty palm, his grabs hold of Lance and they shake as if meeting for the very first time. Lance supposes that in a way, they are. 

He tries not to feel sad about it.

"I'm uh," Keith gulps, "I'm Keith. Keith Kogane."

"Cool. So." Lance places his hands on his hips and looks around, even if all he wants to do is keep looking at Keith. With the mask on, it's possible. His eyes are covered and his cheeks won't turn cherry red; he's protected and if he were more selfish, he'd stare and stare and stare. "How can I repay you?"

"Don't worry about it." Keith says, seeming to slowly wake up from his shock. He brings a hand to the nape of his neck, a sign that he's nervous. "You do enough for all of us. It was the least I could do."

"That's sweet." Lance says and he means it. "But you saved my life, dude. You deserve something."

Keith shakes his head, "Seriously, I don't-"

"Milkshake?" Lance suggests, feeling as if he's given himself away.

But Keith just looks amused, as if it were a mere coincidence that Lance had guessed one of his all time favorite treats. Lance sees the thoughts rolling around in Keith's head but he can also spot the way his eyes are lighting up. Like a star in the sky, he's starting to beam with excitement.

"Sure." He eventually agrees, "Just let me get dressed."

"No, no. You can stay here and I'll be right back!" Lance backs toward the balcony, "Vanilla malt?"

Keith reaches forward, as if he could keep Lance from leaving. "Your still hurt, you'll open your stitches-"

"I got this." Lance motions toward his tall frame, feeling the evening chill as he climbs onto the railing. "I'm superhuman, remember? A silly gunshot wound won't keep me down. There's one thing you gotta know about me, Keith."

"Yeah?" Keith asks, glancing at the band on Lance's wrist that helps his webbing fly. "What's that?"

Lance smiles and gives a two finger salute, "I always get back up."

 

* * *

 

Keith can't help the gasp that leaves his mouth when the boy flips into the air and falls ten entire stories. But just before he hits the cement, his web springs free and he's soaring between the buildings. Keith watches him go with a wildly beating heart, the thuds so intense he swears the organ will eventually pop right out of his chest. He groans at the imagery and goes back inside, still a bit in disbelief.

His messy apartment is just as bloodstained as he thought it'd be. He knows he'll have to clean it before Lance or Shiro come for a visit because there's no way in hell he could explain it. But he moves slow in his cleanup, nose stinging at the scent of bleach. He scrubs with precision and even though his couch was shitty to begin with, he's kind of sad that the bleach is ruining the faux black leather. Still, it's better than lugging the whole thing out and getting a new one.

When he's finished, he quickly throws away the soiled rags and takes a scolding hot shower. Tilting his head, he lets the water soak his face and run down the entire length of his body. Steam curls all around him and even though he forgot to turn on the vent to dissipate the steam, he doesn't move an inch to do it. For so long he'd been without clean water and to say it shaped who he is now would be an understatement. While not particularly tidy, he's very staunch about keeping his body free of the things that tormented him as a child: lice, ring worms, dirt caked beneath his broken nails.

Sighing, Keith tries to push away thoughts of his past. He recalls his best friend's advice, the way Shiro always places a heavy, consoling hand on his shoulder.

_We can't live in the past. We always have to look forward, to start the next chapter._

Keith always teased him for being so cheesy. But now he's grateful for those little pep talks. So, with a final scrub of his face, he turns the water off and tries his hardest to focus on other things. Once he's out of the shower all that is happening returns in a flash and he gulps, stomach doing somersaults. He dries off and dresses fast, practically sneaking out of the bathroom to check for Spiderman before hurrying to his bedroom. He yanks his phone from the charger, eager to spill what's on the tip of his tongue.

"Buddy!" Lance answers almost immediately, sounding breathless. "What's up?"

"Are you working?"

"Um, yeah. Y'know how it is, all the elevators in Brooklyn hate me. So i'm taking the stairs to deliver."

Keith laughs, "Only a few more weeks of this, right? Once the lab opens, you're gonna be a millionaire. You're gonna cure fuckin' cancer, man."

"Right." Lance huffs, the sound of traffic loud in the background. "If I don't screw up first."

They're quiet for a moment but Keith can only stop himself from blurting what's on his mind for so long. Before Lance can say anything else, Keith walks to the balcony and takes a deep breath, cheeks flaming red from an instant flush.

"I think I have a crush." He blurts, hating the way his voice breaks like some lovesick teenager.

"Huh?"

Keith rubs at his eyes, elbows resting on the railing. He sounds dumb and he knows it, especially considering his current other-crush is listening on the other line. But, hell, at this point his new affections for Spiderman seem more likely to go places than anything ever could with someone like Lance.

"Yep." Keith says, "Can you guess on who?"

Lance makes an _how the hell should I know_ noise.

"I'm sure almost everyone in this city has a crush on the guy." Keith hints.

"No offense or anything, but I've never seen you actually _crush_ on _anyone_. Who are you and what have you done with Keith?"

Keith rolls his eyes, "Look, I'm almost twenty five. I've had crushes before."

"Yeah? So who is he?"

Turning, Keith leans on the railing and lets the metal dig into his back. He winces, phone held tight between his fingers.

"Well, he uh, y'know. Fights crime and-" A bark of laughter makes Keith hold the phone away from his ear, a frown quickly forming. "Nothin's gonna happen, I know it. But are you telling me you don't have a crush on Spiderman?"

"Nah." Lance answers immediately. "I have someone else in mind."

Keith pretends that doesn't sting.

"Whatever." He sighs and heads back inside, "I just wanted to tell you. Because...I dunno, I thought you'd be interested in my apparent nonexistent love life."

"Oh trust me, mullet, I'm _very_ interested. So interested that I can't wait to tell everyone-"

Keith hangs up before he can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

Staring at the phone, Lance wishes he could punch himself in the face. What kind of luck does he have? The guy he's had a mega crush on forever just so happens to have a crush on him. Except it isn't him. But it is, right?

"Shit." Lance pockets his phone and stares at the cityscape, feeling like a total fool.

Hunk will make fun of him for this for days. With that thought in mind, Lance picks up the milkshake and tries his very hardest not to spill it on the clueless people below. It's hard work, swinging from building to building with a bag of cold milk in his grip. But, eventually, he makes it. Taking a deep breath, he knocks twice on the balcony door.

Inside, Keith looks up from his painting and smiles. It's a different sort of smile than those Lance usually receives. It's all soft around the edges, a bit cautious and unfairly attractive.

Clearing his throat, he holds out the bag and says, "Here is your thank you for saving my life milkshake, from the best little diner in the city. I already drank mine though."

Usually, Lance would plop down on the couch and hog most of it. But before he can he stops himself and remains standing, trying to appear relaxed and not completely awkward. Keith seems to notice his efforts. He takes a sip of his milkshake and motions to the cushion beside him, raising a brow in invitation. The moment Lance sits, he sinks into the couch with familiarity.

"Is this weird?" He asks, trying to keep a respectable distance between them. "I feel like this might be weird."

"Not weird." Keith says, shrugging. "Just different. Unexpected."

"What would you usually be doing on a Tuesday night?"

Keith shrugs again, "Working at St. Michael's Hospital or painting. Maybe hanging out with my friends."

"Yeah? What're they like?" Lance tries to keep his question simple. A curious, tame, totally normal question.

"Shiro's a great guy. He actually helped me out a lot when I was a kid. I wasn't always so...calm." There is fondness in his tone and Lance lets it wash over him, knowing that Shiro is more than just a great guy. He's a practical saint. "Lance is a goofball."

"Seriously?" Even Lance can tell he sounds almost scandalized. So, to tone it down a bit, he adds, "I'd probably say the same about my best friend, honestly."

Keith smirks, "He's more than that." Lance waits, breath halted at the idea of hearing just what Keith thinks about him. But then he continues, "He's mostly a goofball, though."

With a snort, Lance leans his head back against the cushion. He stares at the ceiling through his mask and wishes he could take it off. But just as his finger twitches, and his thoughts border on dangerous unmasking territory, a familiar twinge makes him wince. He sits up fast, his entire body prickling and his head tilting, searching for the source of his early alert.

"Sorry," He mumbles, standing up just as blaring sirens race by on the street below. Distantly, there is the sound of a helicopter getting closer and closer. "Gotta go. That spidey sense I was talking about? It's uh, y'know, _sensing_ stuff."

"Right! Yeah, of course." Keith stands too, looking lost, as if he should do something more.

But Lance can't even tease him about it. All he can do is turn and run for the balcony, taking only a second to jump into the air and sling his web to the adjacent building. He doesn't look back to see if Keith is watching, though he wouldn't mind it if he was.

Time and time again, he lets his web find windows and poles, even the tram tracks that run through the center of the city. He lands on the roof of a cab near the downtown districts and stands slow, listening for the cause of such a huge pile up. People surge around him, phones snapping pictures, videos following his every move but Lance can't even be bothered to wave for the cameras. Around the corner, there is an explosion. Immediately, he shoots his web and flies into the air, twisting and turning to land on the side of a skyscraper, sticking to it as if it were doused with thick glue. He inches closer, peeking at the carnage below. Luckily, it isn't the actual Carnage that he's facing tonight. That symbiote has almost cost him his life too many times to count and Lance just _really_ isn't in the mood to deal with him now.

"Seriously?!" Lance calls out, swinging to land on a streetlight.

Below him, several goons hold semi-automatics, their eyes wild like they're on some drug. They shout and turn in Lance's general direction, firing into the sky. With a grunt, Lance swings down and kicks the guns out of their grasps one after another. They clatter to the ground and he wraps them up tight in his web, suspending them well above their heads.

"Not cool, guys." He says, standing in front of them to keep them from running away. "You coulda' hurt someone-"

"Yeah, that's the point!" One shouts.

They run at Lance as one, though their steps are almost as sloppy as their hits. Lance dodges with acrobatic skill, using a leg to trip two and kick the other three in the chest. They all fall on the ground and sputter, giving Lance just enough time to wrap them up in a similar fashion to their guns.

When he's done, he stands with his hands on his hips. "Was blowing a hole int the bank really worth it, fellas?"

The police finally pool into the intersection, guns drawn against the flashing lights, the sound of the chopper hovering above loud in their ears. Lance backs away and returns to his spot on the streetlight, the metal covered in bullet holes. Cameras from several news stations survey the damage and focus on Lance, though it's impossible for them to ask questions. With a twitch of his eyes, Lance turns just in time to stop a huge bus door from slamming into him and everyone below. His web sticks and he swings the door high, managing to hit the newcomer just as they try to shove another shard of shrapnel into his chest.

"I knew this had something to do with you!" Lance shouts, flipping and swinging to the building beside him, trying to draw Hazar away from the crowd. Which is honestly a bit difficult in a city like this. "Don't you ever get tired of blowing holes in walls and totally failing to steal all the money inside? It's kind of embarrassing."

Hazar grunts and sends a blast of energy toward Lance, completely decimating the wall behind him. He falls into the building and rolls through the rubble before using his web to send him to the ceiling. Shocker enters the building soon after, looking ready to kill.

"How've you been, Hazar? Did ya' miss me while you were locked up?"

"You talk too much!" Hazar shouts, sending another sonic wave from his balled fists.

This time, Lance swings out of the way. He takes the split second of mobility to shove both of his feet into Hazar's back, the metal suit sending a vague sense of pain traveling up the length of Lance's legs. But it knocks the guy off balance and gives Lance the chance to punch him square in the jaw, sending globs of blood flying from his mouth.

"Why're you doing this, Hazar? Why aren't you spending your sentence in peace, trying to get parole? I thought you were trying to get better, man!" Lance spins a web, working fast to get it thick enough so the guy can't blast his way through it.

He spots a strange object on the back of the man's neck, settled like a mole into the skin. Hazar struggles and Lance dodges a headbutt, glad he won't be dealing with a raging headache later.

"They're makin' me work for 'em." Hazar says, teeth grinding as he tries to break free. "They'll kill me!"

"Who?" Lance asks, shoving the hulking man against the wall.

Below, the swat team has begun to barge their way inside the building. In a few minutes Lance won't have anymore time to question the guy.

"Who, Hazar? Who're you so scared of?"

But before the guy can say more, his eyes go wide. He looks as if he's being shocked from the inside, his lips quivering, every inch of his body going rigid. Then he just...shuts down. His head slumps forward and his legs give out, giving Lance only a moment to catch him before he slams into the ground. Outside, the swat team has made it to the hallway. Before Lance stands, he runs his hand on the back of Hazar's neck where the small square is embedded. 

"Sorry about this." Lance says moments before pulling it free.

He pockets it and without another moment of hesitation, he jumps from the window.

 

* * *

 

"It's the weirdest thing." Lance taps a finger on his chin, feigning fascination. Keith and Hunk look at him as if he were more annoying than usual. Which, he supposes, could be true. "I was walking here and there was a video on the news of Spiderman doing his spiderstuff and I coulda' _sworn_ I saw a bit of black hair from beneath his hood."

Keith rolls his eyes and dons his overcoat, getting ready for another lengthy shift at the hospital. "I know what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything. I just have my suspicions." Lance throws an arm around Hunk's broad shoulders, wincing from an apparent bruise on his hip after tripping down a full flight of stairs. 

Considering it's happened before, Keith offered to take a look. But Lance had refused, practically fighting him off at the mere chance that Keith would lift his shirt.

"I mean...you are kinda _super_ , Keith." Hunk jokes, "You never really sleep, you know how to climb buildings, your favorite color is red."

Keith snorts and grabs his bag, trying to usher his friends out of his apartment. At this rate, he'll be late. "I'm not Spiderman. I literally just told Lance that I-"

He cuts off, heat already spreading against his cheeks. Lance looks at him strangely for a moment before saving Keith from further embarrassment.

"Told him what?" Hunk asks.

Lance smirks, "That he's pretty sure Spiderman is Shiro."

At this, Hunk laughs as if it were the funniest joke in the world. All Keith can do is give Lance a thankful glance, ignoring the wiggle of his thin brows. They step outside and the morning air is brisk, picking up the fabric of Keith's coat and the ends of Hunk's thick hair. Keith listens to the chatter and life around him, trying to keep from feeling sentimental. But as his friends start to walk away, Hunk tripping on a bit of uprooted concrete and Lance laughing loud in response, he can't help but cherish the moment.

Lance turns and lifts his hand, two fingers thrown in a wave, his face glowing in the bright sun. Keith smiles and waves back, watching them until they round the corner and disappear from his sight. With a sigh, he turns to the street and catches a cab. Only later, after finishing his third surgical procedure, will Keith reflect on Lance and his wave.

Only later will he wonder why the gesture looked so familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope y'all are enjoying this. Thank you to everyone leaving kudos and commenting and reading!
> 
> p.s. Hazar is a villain from voltron and I kinda made him the Shocker in this (one of spiderman's enemies)
> 
> p.p.s. i know technically i'm supposed to write Spiderman like Spider-Man but i'm just...lazy. forgive me
> 
> p.p.p.s i'm sorry if my writing is wack. I'm just trying to have fun with this story and I hope you're having fun too ♡

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little introductory chapter. I'm sorry it's short and a bit rushed! The next chapters will slow down and explore backstories, etc. 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr: [starshinebf](https://starshinebf.tumblr.com/)


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